


The Nightly Feeding Ritual OR Maybe If I Spin In Circles and Cluck, It'll Make the Food Come Faster!

by Bamboozlepig



Category: Original Fiction - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Humor, guinea pigs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bamboozlepig/pseuds/Bamboozlepig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nightly feeding ritual of my two guinea pigs, Gabby and Eeep, as told by them.  Sadly, both piggies have since passed away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightly Feeding Ritual OR Maybe If I Spin In Circles and Cluck, It'll Make the Food Come Faster!

**Author's Note:**

> **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.**

  9:30 pm:  We casually remind She Who Is The Bringer Of The Evening Meal that  _*ahem*_  we would appreciate it if she would get her ass off of that shiny clacky not-tellyvision thing in The Room Where We Must Not Venture Because We Poop Beneath The Bed and feed us, because it is now 9:31 and we are hungry.  We alert her by softly wheeking and making burbly guinea pig noises.  We are impressed with how cute we sound.  Not to mention how cute we look when making those sounds.  Oh hell, let’s face it, we’re just plain cute every second of the day.

9:34:  Well, except when we make a non-cute sound…Whoops, that was not a burbly guinea pig noise, that was a fart, and boy howdy, does it smell like one of us has something that crawled up inside of us and died!  The other one of us, the non-farter, will escape to the back of the tank to avoid the horrendous odor wafting from the fartee’s tank, and plus, that kinda sorta scared just a little bit of pee out of the non-farter one of us.  Along with a poo.  But we are not embarrassed by this, not much anyway.  Because we also got scared at the jazzy music soundtrack that was playing earlier on the tellyvision thingy…we don’t like jazz, it reminds us of hippopatamuses…hippopatumusi?  Hippopatamooses?  Well, whatEVER the plural is for hippos, we hate jazz.  Wait, did that make sense?

9:35:  Drats, the fart and our adorababble squeaking has failed to summon She Who Is The Bringer Of The Evening Meal.  So we wheek louder.  And the non-farter of us reminds the fartee to keep a tight butthole while standing up against the edge of the tank, because that’s how farts happen to slip out.  And like the Queen of England, we are NOT amused.  Well, maybe a little bit…but only because we were watching the Benny Hill Show earlier and he had some good fart jokes on there.

9:36:  Um…well…whoopsie-daisy, the non-farter of us has now joined the ranks of the fartee when we accidentally let a dainty little cheek flapper rip, but this is not our fault, this is SWITBOTEM’s fault, because she’s STILL back on that damned clicky-clacky non-tellyvision thingy.  And the good news is, with letting that little patoot blast out, we’ve now made more room for food.  And there’s always room for food, right?  Or is that Jello that we’re thinking of…wait, do we even EAT Jello?

9:38:  SIGH…It’s a foregone conclusion that we are going to starve to death, so we begin to contemplate, not to mention sample, the stuff that is in our tanks.  We nibble on the occasional piece of bedding and stray hay bits, and one of us is lucky enough to have caught one of the world’s best flying finger food…a gnat.  However, gnats and bedding are not filling, so we sadly galumph to the backs of our cages and sulk.  Which makes room for yet even more food.  If it comes, that is.

9:39:  We wonder how much Bob Geldof or Bono or Sting would charge to come do a pity song for us, raising money to feed the poor starving guinea pigs all over the world, but mostly mainly us, because WE thought of it first, so WE should benefit the most from it, right?  Right.  We happen to think “Do They Know It’s Squeekmas?” is kind of catchy, but then again, so is “We Are The Pigs”…oh, decisions, decisions!  And damn it, now we have “We Are The World” running through our little heads.  Can this night GET any worse?   

 9:40:  OH HOORAY, SWITBOTEM has come out of The Room Where We Must Not Venture and she looks like she’s going to feed us!  YAY!  We must do the happy guinea pig dance of joy, joy, joy, which consists of standing up and squeaking in delight, and it’s going well until one of us farts again.  And this time it’s loud enough to scare both of us to the backs of our cages, wondering if it was actually only a fart, or perhaps SWITBOTEM is getting that nasty Eureka Dragon out to eat up our sniffyspots on the floor…oh wait, it was a fart, but we’re both still so scared, we’ll neither one lay claim to it, but we swear it was not the darling Leetle Brown Peeg, but the tan and black terror known as the Humpmobile.  Because as we all know, ladies don’t fart, they fluff.

9:43:  Damn it, she’s not feeding us, she’s feeding herself!  We rise up in indignant outrage, reminding her that we’re STAAAAAAARVING by squeaking and chewing on the rims of our tanks.  She ignores us.  So we decide to sit and stare at her and use our immense powers of guinea pig ESP to convince her to feed us.  You are getting very slee…oh wait, that’s not it…FEEEEEEEED us…FEEEEEEEEED us…FEEEEEEEEED…damn it, will you QUIT FARTING?  You’re breaking my intense concentra…ooh, is that a piece of food I missed?  No, it’s a piece of bedding.  Um…what were we doing now?  Oh yes, staring at her to convince her to feed us.

9:45:  Wow, all that staring has made us fall asleep with our eyes open, but hey, that’s okay, a quick snooze will refresh us so we can eat with gusto when it arrives.  If it arrives.  We’ve pretty much given up hope that it will, but still, a tiny little shred of it remains.  Oh wait, that’s gas, never mind.

9:46:  Oh, she’s taking her dishes out to the sink and washing them…let’s squeak to remind her that we’re still STAAAAAAAAAARVING and she hasn’t fed us yet.

9:50:  YAY!  She’s gonna feed us!!!!  I KNEW she wouldn’t forget, she never does!  She whips us into a frenzy by asking us if we wanna eat..well DUH, what the hell do you think we’ve spent the last half hour THINKING of, ya idiot?  Oh, what’s that SWITBOTEM?  I need to get my fat little feet off the food bowl so you can pick it up and dump it?  Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot!  I’m just soooo HUUUUUUNNNNNGGGGRY my mind is in a tizz!

9:52:  Okay wait, the food bowls are on the backs of our cages?  What???  Oh…yeah…let’s not forget the whole ‘pea in the ear’ ordeal that happened when ONE of us (not the intelligent leetle brown one either, the dopey tan and black one that humps anything that moves) refused to get one’s fat little cavy head out of the food bowl when Thy Bountiful Silver Scoop Of YumYums came swooping out of Thy Wonderful Rubbermaid Container Of Neverending Guinea Pig Goodies, and one of us (repeating, NOT the cute leetle brown one, but the horny tan and black one) wound up getting a pea flicked into our ear.  Which would only happen to THAT pig, of course, because the leetle brown one is smart enough to remember to keep her head out of the food bowl.  Usually.  So okay, we’ll just be patient, the food is clearly clattering into our bowls, we can hear it.  And we’re standing up, nomming on the sides of our tanks and burbling at her.  Except for the one of us that farts at her.  But she doesn’t hear it, so it’s okay.

9:53:  Oh, she’s picking out the stuff that the Leetle Brown Pig won’t eat and putting it into The Humpmobile’s bowl, while also picking out of The Humpmobile’s bowl the things he won’t eat.  She says we’re pickier than three-year-old kids, but hey, we’re so much cuter!  And we don’t projectile vomit onto to SWITBOTEM’s couch, nor do we go pee on her bathroom floor because she does not have chicken nuggets and grape Juicy-Juice for us to drink.

9:54:  The Humpmobile, in an attempt to get the food to come faster, did a dizzying little dance in a circle and whacked into the side of his cage.  SWITBOTEM of course thought this was hilarious, and admittedly, it was.  Just because we remember the whole “Hi there, hi there, hi there!  Nice to meetcha! I wanna stick my dinky up your nose!” ordeal that we went through, and we think The Humpmobile deserves just the teensiest bit of pain, not to mention dizziness, because really…a dinky up our nose?  HOW GROSS!  However, we are wondering why Humpmobile clucked like a chicken while spinning around.  Is he trying to start some new dance craze?  Oh brother, we haven’t yet recovered from the Macarena yet!  Or was it the Electric Slide?  The Hustle?  The Lambada?  Oh wait, it was the Hokey Pokey we haven’t yet recovered from, mostly because we have absolutely NO concept of sticking one’s right foot in a circle, and then the left foot in, and then shaking them all about because HELLO!…we have FOUR FEET, PEOPLE!  So which left feet and right feet do we stick in?  The forefeet or the hind feet?  And this is why we will never be on Dancing With The Stars, damn it. 

9:55:  Drats, she picks the Humpmobile up to check if he has an ear infection  because of his stupid spinning around…he’s not sick, I tell ya, he’s just STUPID.  And maybe a little bit cute.  But we won’t tell him that now, will we?

9:56:  The Humpmobile, distressed that he is a): dizzy; b): slightly pained; c): STAAAAAAARVING, and d:) still gassy, lets another pooter blast while SWITBOTE is checking him out for ear infection.  She hastily decides he’s fine and unceremoniously dumps him back into his cage with the comment of “PEE-YEW!”.  But hey, she then puts our food bowls in the tanks, YAAAAAY!!!  We quickly dig in, because if we wait any longer, we shall jes’ wither away an’ _perish_  from the lack of vittles. 

9:57:  Um…is this ALL we get?  We squeak at her to ask, but she ignores us, dumping a handful of hay into the tanks next to us, pushing our fat little butts out of the way so we don’t get hay placed on us. 

 9:58:  Seriously, is this IT?  Why, we’ve had all our favorite goodies scarfed down in the first five seconds, and now all that’s left are the pellets and the seeds we hate.  We’re gonna starve if we don’t get more than THIS, for heaven’s sake.  Even prisoners in solitary confinement get a better repast than THIS is..wait, where’s she going?  WHERE’S SHE GOING??  Oh NO, NOT back to The Room Where We Must Not Venture Because We Poop Beneath The Bed!  Now we’ll NEVER get more food!  And we’ll STAAAAAAARVE!  Hey, SWITBOTEM, you don’t feed us, we’re gonna sic the Humane Society on you!  And we’ve got Bono on speed dial, trust us! Look, we’re dialing now!  DIALING NOW, WE TELL YOU!  (well, we would anyway if we knew how to work a cella-ma phony and the little beepy sounds it makes didn’t scare the poop out of us).

10:00:  SIGH…well, guess we’ll go eat our hay…  

* * *


End file.
